


Stake

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-23
Updated: 2010-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thought he was smart, and mostly he was, but not this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stake

**Author's Note:**

> A season four story.

Dean thought he was smart, and mostly he was, but not this time. A coven got him, they got him good, and they decided he'd be a symbol, he’d be a clear message to all hunters: _fear us._

_   
_

Dean’s flying; he’s a million miles in the air, above the clouds, above the planet, America spread as empty as a jilted lover beneath him. He can see stars and a void and somewhere, far below, a sun explodes. Under his feet the light is slaughterhouse red, the sound of screaming tears the air, the smell of flesh rides the inside of his skull; as honey sweet as the nape of a woman’s neck.

Then he’s slammed back into his body and there’s no mercy. There’s no release from the roaring pain in his feet, his calves, the choking air in his lungs, the smoke etching black on his eyeballs, his nerves aflame with pain. Dean’s body is undone, just flesh and blood after all, just a few vulnerable bones.

And all that’s in his head now is _it hurts sam it hurts sam it hurts sam_

His last thought is that he wants Sam so badly, so very badly, that he must have called up the roar of the Impala from inside himself, hearing the sound of his own desperation, and after that it’s all just red and black.

_   
_

So, in the end, after all the crap they’d been through: hell fire, mutual dying, dead parents, dead girlfriend, giving up everything they’d ever loved over and over again, boredom, fights, hating each other, not being able to live without each other, all that crap, on and on and on, in the end: Dean had to nearly burn alive tied to a stake by a bunch of witches for something to change_._

_   
_

It’s Sam alone in the hospital, fake IDs and lies and cold coffee and watching the color on Dean’s face, watching for any sign of color, of life.

It’s Dean bitching and moaning and charming the nurses, itching and writhing in the hospital sheets, in his special socks, begging Sam to rub lotion on him.

It’s Sam hunting the witches, maiming them all, knife embedded, hurting, wrenching, no thought for anything except cold revenge, except Dean burning on a pile of dead wood. Dean, flames licking his body, close to dying.

It’s Sam lying to Dean after he’s washed away the blood, pretending nothing's broken.

It’s Dean not asking.

It’s Dean waking sweating night after night in the hospital darkness, twisting in his bed from nightmares, supernovas under his feet, pain like flying, and Sam there, Sam watching him like he never even needs to sleep.

It’s Sam breaking him out, catching him up into his big arms and dragging him – in the end carrying him – to the Impala, because Dean’s feet – _oh his poor feet_ – and it’s like some wedding cliché, some threshold gets crossed over and there’s no turning back. Not from Sam setting Dean down carefully in the passenger seat, and Dean too choked up to make a smart mouth comment, to take anything away from the moment_._

_   
_

So time slipped and slid and brothers became something else, something new. Dean held himself above Sam a few weeks later, a condom in his slick fingers, and felt his whole life come crashing down inside his chest. He canted his hips and tried to roll the condom down his cock but he caught the look on Sam’s face –_ blown wide open_ – and his fingers slipped, the condom pinged off and hit the carpet somewhere in the dark around them.

He shuddered and steadied himself on Sam’s chest, his other hand scrabbling behind them on the bed for the packet, but Sam’s heart was beating so fast under his fingers, and Sam said, “Dean, Dean,” and again, “Dean,” only this time it was a whisper, and Dean couldn’t, he couldn’t…

He leaned down to Sam and met his eyes in the dark, and he kissed his eyelids closed one by one, and he pushed into Sam in one raw slide of skin against skin. Hot, and deep, and Sam’s eyes flew open, he strained underneath Dean and they looked at each other – steady – until Dean felt the hard lines of tension fade from Sam’s body, until the fierce joy on Sam’s face changed into need. Dean pulled out and drove back in with no mercy, and no control, and no finesse, and all he could hear inside his own head was _Sam Sam Sam, oh god, Sam, fuck, fuck Sam, fucking you, I’m fucking you Sam, I’m so deep in you…_

“Dean,” Sam gasped, his whole body straining to meet Dean’s thrusts, his fists pulling up the sheets, his chest bare and slick with sweat. _“You’re in me, you’re fucking me Dean.” _It was almost a whisper, his voice full of raw and wonder and taut in his straining throat, both of them gasping for air in the tiny pauses at the top of Dean’s thrusts.

Dean wanted it never to end, never ever, but it did: he spun out above Sam like Sam was an anchor in a whirlpool and if he was in over his head, if they were both in over their heads, Dean didn’t care, he didn’t give a fuck, not a single_ goddamn _fuck. He came in a blinding rush, and when he could see again he saw a vision of Sam curling up towards him, shaking and shuddering around Dean’s softening cock, and flooding his chest with spunk.

Dean wanted to laugh, to crack a joke, to do _something_ to ease the tension, to say – this is normal, and we are okay – but all he could do was stare at Sam’s beautiful shaking body, and soothe him down onto the wrecked sheets, stroke his chest, his thighs, wind his fingers into Sam’s sweaty hair, and feel Sam turning into him, folding his body up against Dean’s. And Sam didn’t wait for Dean, didn’t wait for Dean’s careful move, but took his face in his hands and pulled their mouths together, like Dean had no will of his own, like it was final.

But it is okay. Afterwards Sam gets snacks from the machine in the motel foyer, and they flip on the TV and one of Dean’s favorite horror movies is halfway through, a vampire film called Near Dark. He’s always wanted Sammy to see it, ‘cos man it’s close, it’s so close, and as sexy and violent as hell. Released around the same time as The Lost Boys, and yeah, also a classic, but the other one has just got something special. So he gives Sammy his talk on vampire movies, and they lie under the blankets on Sam’s bed, their arms rubbing up against each other, eating chocolate bars and candy – and it’s good, it doesn’t get any better.

Only it does. Sam wakes him a few hours later with his lips on Dean’s forehead, then his cheeks, his chin. When Dean opens his eyes Sam takes it as permission and kisses him soft and slow, candy sour on his tongue and nothing but stale breath and the feel of his brother’s mouth, his brother’s cheeks soft against his, stubble scratching around their lips, and nothing else wanted, nothing else wanted at all. 


End file.
